


The (Wrong) Right Thing

by captaintinymite (augopher)



Series: Lyric Lines as Dialogue [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Breaking Up & Making Up, Car Accidents, Derek is a Failwolf, Derek is sorry he made a mistake, Hospitalization, M/M, Major Character Injury, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, implied co-alphas Scott and Derek, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/captaintinymite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunters kidnapped Kira and Stiles to get to Scott and Derek. After they rescue them from hunters, Derek breaks things off with Stiles in order to keep him safe. Terrible plan, and Stiles doesn't exactly take it well.</p>
<p>Derek should never have let him drive home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Wrong) Right Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Fourth fic in my Lyrics as Dialogue Prompt Event over on [tumblr](http://captaintinymite.tumblr.com/post/124963379537/oh-look-a-prompt-event-cue-jazz-hands)
> 
> the prompt...well I didn't fill it exactly: "For your prompt event: #17 "Don’t hold back - I’d kill to take your place. Tell me a lie… tell me you don’t care.” and Major Character Death.
> 
> Lyric comes from Stone Sour's [Sadist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=83fG-46PkRU) which inspired the fic a little bit

 

“You asshole!”

Derek stilled. He’d expected Stiles to be angry, possibly coming to the loft to confront him when he’d left that message on his voicemail earlier. It was more than a little craven, but he didn’t care. When that group of hunters had taken Stiles and Kira in order to call out Scott and himself, Derek realized that being with him would only wind up getting Stiles killed. They’d found them both, unharmed except for minor cuts and bruises, but there was already too much blood on his hands, and Derek could not let Stiles’ be the blood that soiled his hands next.

“How could you do that to me?” Derek could see him shaking with rage. Angry Stiles was one Derek could handle; he could work with angry. It was when anger gave way to tears that Derek had trouble dealing. “Six months! It took you six months to...Was I just a fling to you? A warm body for your bed, despite-”

“It’s better this way.” Derek bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from saying anything else, because despite the fury of Stiles’ words, he could see the pain in his eyes.

“Bullshit! You sure as hell didn’t feel that way before the hunters caught us. You were in love with me last week, or was that a lie?”

_Go for the kill, Derek. Hurt him to save him._  “Yes. It was fun while it lasted, but that’s all it was.”

Stiles licked his lips, his posture going rigid. Derek knew he was pausing to collect himself, to think of the right thing to say.

“Fine. If you really feel that way, get over here and say it to my face instead of hiding behind a phone screen. Don’t hold back. Tell me a lie. Tell me you don’t care.” Stiles ran his hands through his hair.

Derek crossed the living room and met Stiles by the door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the look he knew would cross Stiles’ face next. “I don’t love you. Never did.” He watched Stiles worry the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth.

“For all your bravado and posturing, you are a fucking coward.”

He sighed. “I’m no good for you. The last days should have told you that. Being with me is only going to get you hurt.”

“It would have been worth it! Instead, you decide to make my decisions for me!” Stiles jabbed an index finger into his sternum, and Derek didn’t even fight it, letting the momentum push him backward a bit.

“Just go, Stiles. You’re just making it harder on yourself.” In reality, the longer Stiles stayed, filling the loft with his scent, the worse he was making it for Derek. It had already broken his heart to leave that pathetic voicemail. Now, seeing the effect of his words, he was ready to crumble and grovel. But no, this had to be done. _Hurt him now, save him in the end._  “Please, go. I don’t want you here anymore.”

That seemed to do the trick, because Stiles threw up his hands in frustration and snapped, “I don’t even need werewolf hearing- You always were a terrible liar, Derek!” Stiles took a shuddering breath. “Thirty years from now, when you are sitting there, miserably alone, with little gray hairs on your stubborn werewolf head, you are going to look back on this moment and realize this was the worst mistake of your fucking life!” He turned around and let his shoulders sag in defeat.

Derek could smell the salt in the air. Tears were good; they meant he got his point across.

“Don’t call me. Don’t come by and ask for help with research. Don’t creep outside my apartment or my dad’s house to check up on me. Just leave me alone.” A broken sob escaped his lips, the sound bouncing off the loft door, and Derek wanted to cave, wrap him up in his arms, offer profuse apologies, but he held firm. “Part of me wants to tell you to leave and never come back, but I love you too much to let you be an omega. Just...I am never going to get over you if I have to be around you all the time.”

What? He didn’t want to lose Stiles’ friendship too. Still, Derek knew he was never supposed to get nice things. He supposed that extended to friends as well.

“I’ll tell Scott it’s my fault we fell apart so no one takes it out on you, but-” Derek could hear the sharp intake of breath. “I would have made you so happy.” With that, Stiles left. He’d been right, Derek knew Stiles was right. The last six months were some of the happiest in his life, but hunters- always fucking hunters.

As it turned out, he wouldn’t need thirty years to realize his mistake. He wouldn’t need ten or five or even one year.

No, he would only need two hours.

 

*****

 

Stiles could hardly see through the tears in his eyes. Not only was he heartbroken, he was also so damn angry at the whole situation. His hands shook even though he was white-knuckling the steering wheel. His chest felt tight, and he could hardly breathe. At least one good thing came out of his midnight trek over to Derek’s: No one was on the road to see his tear-stained face and snotty nose. Ugh. He was a mess.

How could Derek honestly believe this was the right thing to do? Stiles barked out a laugh through the tears. The answer was obvious. He didn’t, because it wasn’t

Stupid, martyr-complex ridden jerk. Why did Stiles have to be so madly in love with the guy? It would make things so much easier. The breath he sucked in came with a quivering whimper. Someday, he would fall in love with someone that deserved him.

He hadn’t even realized his breaths had been so shallow, had come too quickly until his fingers and mouth started to tingle, and by then it was already too late. The edges of his vision were starting to darken; he was beginning to get dizzy.

Stiles noticed the headlights coming straight for him and had barely a second to react, only swerving enough so that even though the oncoming vehicle hit him head-on, the other car struck the Jeep more on the passenger side than the driver’s side.

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, or in near-death moments. What a load of bullshit.

He didn’t see his past. There were no happy memories of family, painful memories of loss, no visions of his friends, the pack, those precious few moments he had with Derek. He didn’t see his future either. There was no college diploma, no Master’s degree. He didn’t see his wedding or a long marriage with the love of his life. He saw no kids or grandchildren. Hell, he didn’t even see a dog. He saw nothing but the way the scenery turned end over end, the  frame of his Jeep twisting and bending, crunching in on him. He saw broken glass, swirling lights. Screams and the sounds of metal screeching along the pavement. His eyes screwed shut in fear, and the darkness disoriented him as he rolled. It was jarring, and when he finally came to a stop, it was with a crunch.

Weak, he opened his eyes and stared at the asphalt underneath his face. He couldn’t move. Even if he wasn’t lying on his side amidst a twisted heap of metal, he wouldn’t be able to move.

Everything, every inch of him hurt, which was surprising given the bitter metallic tang in his mouth, the one he knew came with the release of adrenaline. He shouldn’t feel pain much at all, but he did. He hurt, that much he could not deny.

Stiles shifted and tried to release his seatbelt only to feel a sharp pain in his arm when he tried. Broken, great. If the way his right leg hurt was any indication, then he broke that too. Each breath was agony. If he could even call it a breath. As it was, he barely got any air at all. If there was a way to feel like he was drowning and being simultaneously crushed, then this was it.

“Please, help! Somebody!” He spluttered, his lips wet with something, blood probably. His voice was not nearly loud enough. How could he call for help if he sounded so small? “Help, please.” Too much talking, he thought, as he began coughing. The effort of speaking a handful of words had sapped his strength.

And...Oh God, what about the other car? Had they crashed too? This was his fault, all his fault.

Before he could stop himself, he starting crying, much like he had been before the crash. He just wanted to go home, curl up in bed, maybe with a glass of whiskey and mourn his failed relationship. “Someone please help me.” He was tired and in pain, and this was just too much to handle right now.

“Are you okay?” A man’s voice cut through his panic like a beacon, and Stiles looked up to see someone peering in at him through the broken windshield.

“No,” he coughed, his throat thick with fluid. “My chest hurts, really hurts. I...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I- Are the others okay?”

“You’re worse.”

“You gotta call 9-1-1.”

“Already done. They’re on their way. What’s your name?”

“St...t...tile-,” he wheezed.

The man crawled into the car through the front and offered him some water, but Stiles was too weak to grab the bottle. Instead, the simple act of moving his arm made something in his chest shift, and he screamed in agony, coughing violently in both an attempt to fight the irritation in his lungs and also just to get in enough air. It didn’t work.

“Easy there, Kyle. Do you have someone I can call?”

Stiles didn’t even bother to correct him. “My phone...I don’t-  My dad.”

“What’s his number?”

Stiles gasped for air. Crushed, he was definitely being crushed. Somewhere, he’d look down and see a vice (or a boa constrictor) squeezing him to death. He felt the man hold something to his head. The truth was, he hadn’t even noticed his head was bleeding, not that it surprised him any.

“He’s...I-” That was it. Stiles could not talk anymore, was barely conscious and couldn’t breathe.

“How about I keep talking to you to keep you awake? Sound like a plan? My name’s Jerry. I was driving my son home from a party. He’d been responsible and called me for a ride because he’d been drinking. We stopped when we saw the accident. Kevin, my son, he’s helping the other cars. They’re doing a lot better than you are.”

“I was- I… not drinking.”

“That’s good. You shouldn’t drink and drive. Kevin, he’s twenty-five. How old are you? You look about eighteen.”

Stiles tried to answer him, but he could feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack mounting. “I’m sorry. I didn- I.”

Jerry held the cloth tighter against his head, applying more pressure.

Stiles head was spinning, lightheaded, probably from the lack of air, and before long, Stiles found he could not remember what he had been doing or why he was driving so late- wait something about Derek. He’d been on his way to- No, wait. He couldn’t focus his thoughts. Where was he going?

Stiles could hear sirens approaching. Oh thank God. And none too soon either, because his vision had started to blur and he felt sick to his stomach. His heart was pounding in his chest; his head felt disconnected from his body.

For a while there, he lost sense of time. He could hear emergency workers talking to him, but couldn’t speak, could feel them delicately trying to remove him from the twisted wreck of his car. Then, spots appeared in his vision, and soon after...there was nothing.

 

*****

 

Isaac sat at the intake desk fielding phone calls while a couple nurses were on break. It had been a busy night in the Beacon Memorial Hospital emergency room with more patients than usual. When a woman who’d been waiting for quite some time and had bothered the nurses several times approached the desk again, he fought not to roll his eyes at her.

“When the hell am I going to see a doctor? My hand is still bleeding.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but as you can see, we are extremely busy tonight. We have to triage the patients who have more critical injuries before you. I am sorry, but someone with life-threatening medical conditions are going to be seen before a hand laceration. Now, I can give you some more gauze to hold against the wound, and a nurse will see you as soon as she can. I am not a doctor nor a nurse so I can’t help you beyond that.” He handed her a few packages of gauze squares as she walked away grumbling about the way the healthcare system had gone downhill.

He rubbed his temples. He did not get paid enough for this shit.

He heard an ambulance pull up to the bay. They’d been alerted to an incoming bus as a result of a multiple car accident, so he knew it was coming, but still. They were already busy enough. They’d diverted two ambulances to Beacon General, but this one had a critically injured crash victim, and Beacon Memorial was closest.

Moments later, paramedics and doctors rushed in a man on a gurney. “Patient is unconscious male, late teens early twenties in shock with penetrating chest trauma as a result of MVA. Fluid resuscitation with saline performed en route. BP is 72 over 59 and has been steadily falling. Pulse is 156. SIgns of multiple fractures including arm, leg and ribs. Patient appears to have flail chest and signs of hemo or pneumothorax.”

Isaac watched the gurney moved moved past the intake desk, and he became overwhelmed by the smell of saline, blood, fear, a hint of cinnamon and something else he swore he should know.

“Poor kid. I hope he makes it.” It would take almost an hour for it to click for him. In his pocket, his phone buzzed and then buzzed three more times before he could check it. When he finally did, that last smell finally made sense to him. It was the smell of Derek’s loft: the old bricks, cracked plaster, the lingering scent of the fresh herbs Derek grew in the boxes by the large window. Each text on his phone read something to the extent of “Have you heard from Stiles?”

His phone clattered on the counter where he dropped it.

 

*****

 

“You did what?!”

Despite the cloudy haze of whatever medicine that was keeping him in this odd state of not quite asleep, but barely awake, unable to move his limbs, Stiles recognized Scott’s voice. He’d be able to pick that one out in a crowd.

Where was he?

Somewhere in the room, a machine beeped in a steady rhythm. He could hear the hiss of air. A strong smell of antiseptic. Hospital? Why was he in the hospital? He tried to remember, but all that came to mind was his fight with Derek.

Stiles tried to will himself awake to no avail. Why couldn’t he wake up? Oh God, he was in a coma.

“Scott, I thought I was doing the right thing. I only wanted to keep him safe.”

“Yeah, and a lot of good that did. Taking the easy way out.” Though Scott had lowered his volume, Stiles could still hear the irritation in his voice. Were they in the room with him?

“Easy? You think it was easy to do what I did? To hurt him to save him? I did that to Isaac when the Alpha pack came. Sometimes the right thing to do is the hardest. Being with me is only going to get him killed. I think the events of earlier in the week proved that. I couldn’t even get this right.”

Stiles noticed the way Derek’s voice broke at the end of his sentence.  _No, don’t to that. Don’t blame yourself._  just as he felt himself being pulled back under.

“Hey, Kiddo.” Stiles felt his dad squeeze his hand. “The doctors say your prognosis is about 50/50, but you need to fight. It’s bad. If you could see how you look right now...you...I can’t bury you too. You need to pull through.”

_No, Dad. I’m here; I’m gonna be okay._

“I heard about Derek.” His dad gave a chuckle. “I didn’t even know you two were dating. I may have threatened to shoot him for what he did, but the truth is...I understand why he did it. He’s sitting outside, has been sitting outside or in here with you since you got out of surgery. You lost a lot of blood and part of a lung. I don’t think he’s left in three days. That’s how long you’ve been here. Son, I know how to read people, and I know what regret looks like. I don’t know exactly what he said, but I can tell you it’s eating at him. So...I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Just we need you, Kid.”

Stiles tried to move his hand to squeeze back, but couldn’t. He did hear the way the heart monitor picked up the slight increase in his heart rate, before he slipped back under.

 

 

“Go home, Derek.”

“Sir, I’d rather stay. I need to be here.”

The voices of his father and Derek were quieter this time, like they were just outside the door.

“I understand that, but you clearly need a good night’s sleep in an actual bed and a shower.”

“No...you don’t understand. This is my fault. Why he’s in here. He was upset when he left, and I hurt him. I have to stay. I have to apologize. I-” A long pause followed Derek’s sigh. “I break everything I touch. Even when I think I’m doing the right thing, I break it.”

“You tell him this?”

“I tried, but he-”

“I mean, have you talked to him since he’s been in here? They said he might be able to hear us when we talk to him. Maybe without him talking back you would at least get to say your piece, because I’m going to be honest with you, Derek. You don’t look like a man who believes he did the right thing, even if for the right reasons.”

Stiles felt his heart skip a beat, then another, then another and then- black

 

*****

 

“Stiles, I don’t know if you can hear me. I hope you can.” Derek sighed. “I screwed up. I wouldn’t have done what I did if I thought I had any other choice. I never wanted hunters to use you to get to me. I just wanted you to be safe. I thought it was the right thing. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I...I…”

Stiles felt Derek take his hand between his own, could feel the roughness of stubble as he held it to his lips to kiss. Then, Stiles felt the tears hit his skin. No, no, this was- Derek didn’t cry. Stiles had only seen tears in the man’s eyes twice with Erica and Boyd.

“The other day. I was talking to your dad. He said I should tell you all this. But I don’t even know what to say. I’m...I’m no good at this. I just know I wanted you to be safe and happy even if that wasn’t with me. But- I was wrong, so fucking wrong. I lied, but you knew that. I do love you, and I’d do anything to take it back, what I did, what I said, because then, you wouldn’t be in here. You wouldn’t be clinging to life.” Stiles heard him choke back a sob. “You have to keep fighting. Your heart stopped in surgery...twice. It did it again the other day. Please don’t give up. I love you so much. I need you. And...even if you don’t or won’t take me back-- _I_  wouldn’t take me back--I will do whatever I can, will spend the rest of my life to make it up to you. I am so sorry, Stiles. I...I…”

The edge of the bed dipped down a bit, and he felt Derek’s head against his leg, felt his hair brush against his hand. The bed and blankets muffled the broken sobs, but Stiles could hear the pleas of ‘Come back. Please don’t go,’ clearly.

Some time later, Stiles heard his father’s voice. “Still here? I thought I told you to go home?”

“I tried.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Today?”

“Come on. You need to eat something.”

“But- he looks better, what if he wakes-”

“The doctors are going to take the tube out, see if he can breathe on his own. We can’t be in the room for that. Come on.” The sheriff nodded to the doctors as they left the room.

 

*****

 

Stiles could feel the drugs wearing off, and for the first time in a while, he felt like he could move his limbs. He became more aware of his surroundings, noticed the roughness of the hospital bedding. Someone had their head resting on his bed. If he concentrated really hard maybe he could run his hands through their hair.

Full consciousness came back slowly, like a block of ice gradually melting: a little bit here, a little there, until only his eyes remained uncooperative.  _Focus, Stiles. You can do this._

The weight next to him was gone, but soft voices spoke from somewhere in his room.

“Scott, I don’t care. I am going to fix this. I am going to do whatever it takes.”

“And what if he doesn’t let you?”

“Then he doesn’t let me, but it won’t stop me from trying.”

Stiles licked his lips before he croaked out, “If you buy me a package of Reese’s, I’ll consider it a step in the right direction.”

“Stiles! You’re awake” Derek rushed over, and Stiles stared at him. “I’m so sor-”

“Reese’s first. Apologies later,” he said, his voice rough from disuse. He’d had enough time unconscious in the last however many days he’d been in here to think about things. No, he did not forgive Derek, but, maybe with time and a lot of grovelling he would. Who the hell was he kidding? He’d forgive him, just not yet. As he looked towards the door and Derek’s retreating back, he spoke once more. “Don’t use the vending machines here. They eat your money and keep your candy. Trust me. I know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](captaintinymite.tumblr.com)


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